


Cross My Heart (And Hope to Die)

by deliriouslyshipping



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Wolves, Black Panther does not technically exist, Black Panther is a cover up for them being vampires, Human Erik, I am tired, I'll come up with more tags later, M/M, Non related, Them being the "royal family", Vampire T'Challa, they are not related
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-01 02:27:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15133070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliriouslyshipping/pseuds/deliriouslyshipping
Summary: Let me be lame and create vampire people :)





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> Let me be lame and create vampire people :)

_The moon was vibrant, opposite of the feeling of September 16. The atmosphere, ominous and nonrevealing, and the wolves of the border howled, cutting through the dead of the night. The young boy breathed shallowly into his mother's coat as the huddled into the cramped closet. His father, outside, has not returned. If there was any indication or assumption to be assumed, he will not return. It is too late, the only option to hide and pray to whatever god._

 

_"M-mo-" His mother shushed him quickly, kissing at his forehead as she rocked him, forcing him further into her breast. The door downstairs banged against the floor._

 

_They are here._

 

_Just like his mother had said, he held his breath for good measure. It will not matter anyway. He knows that they can smell him, can sense his presence. No matter what either of them did, unless witty and unexpected, this may very well be the end for both of them. All of them. Although movement directs their scent more, his mother continued to rock him, her silent tears falling onto his face. Footsteps neared them and the boy held his breath once more just as the door opened._

 

_The air whistled outside, only the boots on the ground overbearing the sound. It is in the room. The moonlight provided outside gives the shadow of it stopping right outside of the closet door. Another wet tear falls to the side of his face and he closes his eyes tight._

 

_A clutter of noise occurs in the darkness and the door flies open._  
  


_"Run! Go!" His father with wide eyes from adrenaline screams at the two of them and his mother is fast to move. There is another man on the floor and deep crimson stains the floor. The boy cannot force his eyes away from the spreading of the color until his father grabs his arm._

 

_"I said go!" The presumed dead man rises from the floor, a growl ripping from his throat, before his father is attacked. More blood spurts around the room as his father cries out in pain and before his mother picks him up, his eyes connected with red irises, the same that will haunt his dreams for the remainder of his nights._

 

* * *

 

 

_The border of the kingdom is broken, holes in the gapes of the technology based border. Was it more dangerous to be out there or stay within the walls? There was no discussion to be made as the two made haste outside of the hole, abandoning the screams of the citizens behind them. The boy ran as fast as he could, but his smaller legs failed to keep up with mother. She encouraged him hurriedly._

 

_"Come on!"_

 

_"You can do it!"_

 

_Many people had bumped him into the ground and his legs ache from pushing his physical limits. All it took was a hard enough bump to his head to make him dizzy enough to not find his mama in the madness of it all. A woman's heel dug into his calf and he cried out lamely. He rises with a pounding head and yells for his mother, but she is not there anymore. She is gone. Despite the pain, he runs around, calling out her name as he ventured in the dense forest. The crunching under his feet and the harsh breaths of other people as they ran past him controls his focus, attempting to follow the crowd because that must be where mama is going. Everyone dispersed, however, and there is no one left to follow anymore._

 

_He is alone._

 

_More screams. The wolves are out and preying. How can the night be more devastating? A boy lost his father and his mother in the same night; honestly, his life is as miniscule as the rest at this point. His legs give out finally and he sits against a tree, gaining his breath. A growl sounds, animistic and predatory, and he clenches his eyes shut. Mother always told him that if he feels something bad is going to happen, shut your eyes and imagine something happier; it makes it a little easier. He smells the wolf before he sees it, the earthy scent clenching to his nose and his shies his eyes open. The immensely sized wolf was right there, huffing a breath right in his face._

 

_Dark brown eyes stare at him, teeth baring. He tries to push himself further into the tree, as if it could save him. His eyes shut again and he ducks his head in between his legs. Tears flow from his eyes and death has never had such a hard lesson to him before. Not when his cat was ran over by his neighbor or his uncle died for some reason his father could not tell him. The boy waited and waited, but no harm was inflicted upon him. Slowly, hesitantly, he peered at the wolf who was still in front of him._

 

_The wolf looked more to study him than hurt him. Out of curiosity, his hand reached towards the thick fur, feeling the bulk of it under his small hands. He kept eye contact as he warily stroked the side of the wolf's face. At first, there was no reaction, but then it nosed at his hand. Dirty and wet with tears, the boy slowly got up, sure that the danger was gone. The black wolf lowered itself and looks again, inviting. There was not much of a choice._

 

_He climbs on the back, which is big enough to lay on without much of a hassle. The wolf trots through the forest with the boy on his back and he falls into an exhausted slumber._

 

_He dreams of blood and bodies lying around on the floor, assuredly dead. A hand twitches, then a foot, and then they are all rising from the floor. They are supposed to be dead. Their eyes are closed and they do not breath. In fact, they do not move._

 

_Their eyes open, bright red and shining as they attack-_

* * *

 

 

 

Erik senses the hit before it comes to him, eyes snapping open. He had plenty of time to dodge the attack, but he doesn't. He cannot. The sting of the slap boils the underlying rage in his blood, but he takes the hit nonetheless. The man smiles at him as he undoes the chains linking him to the cart. Erik keeps his cool, playing nicely as the transporter ushers him out with a commanding yell. 

 

It has been such a long time since he has been in the Wakandan Kingdom, but he does not remember it looking this..  words leave him. To everyone else, he must look like a criminal in chains such as this, but there have been more before him. Erik has been planning this out for years, including his capture now. He looks down, smiles to himself, as people come outside to see him and the three following behind him. They are on their way to the palace, to see  _him._

 

It is truly pitiful that no one knows of September 16 or if they did, it was said to be a border invasion of the wolves. It was nothing like it. He saw the red, the mouth covered in blood, remember it like he remembers how many bodies he has under his belt. Like he remembers Auntie, the black wolf he had left to pursue this mission to rid this goddamn place of vicious beasts. He remembers everything. 

 

"Get a move on!" Another punches him on his left cheek bone and he can he feel the blood run slowly down his face. There could be no way that the man could resist him, not like this. As they enter the palace, he thinks of the exact words that he is going to say, the sweet persona of innocence as he begs for his life. No one wants to be a blood slave, they are chosen by the captured and the criminals. It makes the politics of Wakanda "easier," per say (bullshit).

The large door flies open as he sulks his way up to the view of the throne, inhabited by-

 

Shit, that is not him. That is not T'Chaka. Erik has absolutely no fucking clue who this one is. It throws him off so much that he doesn't sense when they begin to knock them to their knees, presenting themselves to the King for selection. The three men to his right bow their heads, but fuck it now. The mission is all screwed up, so he looks up instead, right at the motherfucker. He'll break these chains now and finish him before anyone will notice. 

 

The King observes each one of them with care, eyes raking individual appearance and he stands. He walks to the first and sniffs, and continues until it comes to him. Erik refuses to look away, confused when the man's eyes are not red. They are brown, softer than he was expecting, and he doesn't feel the need to burst out and kill him when their eyes meet. The King's eyebrows raise and his eyes brighten in amusement, but then he catches sight of the wound on his cheek. 

 

"Who hit him?" He demands, looking at the transporters behind him, who step back in obvious fear. None of them speak or confess, but the King's attention is already back on him. A thumb brushes against the wound and Erik suppresses a hiss, eyes flinching. The gesture is fond, almost apologetic, and Erik is almost convinced he did all of this shit for nothing. When he looks back up, the man has the thumb in his mouth, tasting his blood, eyes closed. 

 

Scratch that, the mission is still a fucking go. He is not T'Chaka, but he is a fucking monster just like him. 

 

The King releases a deep breath, eyes still closed, as he breathes out his next word. 

 

"Him." The woman who stands by the throne obviously meant for his protection bangs he spear to the ground and more women in similar dress walk into the room. They salute their King and lift his kneeling body. Erik does not struggle in their hold, though a bit too tight against the raised skin on his body. 

 

"I want him in my room. I will be there shortly. Do not let him escape." So there must've been one who escaped. Erik feels his guts churn at the thought of immediately being placed in the man's room, already there to be used for whatever that bloody bastard wants. All the want is to feed or kill. Overall, they want power, and sitting on that throne as the creature he is, the man has enough power as it is. 

 

The woman push him lightly outside of the door and he looks behind him. His eyes connect with the King's again, lingering until cut off by the door closing behind him. They venture along and Erik concentrates on trying to remember the maze of the palace. They stop at a door and speak to each other.

 

_"How long do you think he will last?"_

 

_"The King seems to have a liking to him. That was the fastest he had chosen a blood slave."_

 

 _"He is strong. I guess we will see."_ They spoke in mother tongue as if he does not know it. Of course they would not think he knows it. According to his records, his name is Erik Stevens, an American native with nothing to lose. That is why they chose him, whisked him off in the middle of the night when he deliberately approached the transporters earlier that day, asking about Wakanda like a stupid American. Speaking Xhosa, he was a bit rusty, but he understood what was said perfectly. He scoffs to himself, covering the action with a cough, and the women acknowledge him again. 

 

"You may go in." The English is rough and Erik walks into the room that one of them has opened. The doors close behind him, locking him in the darkness of the room. The bed is made, the material of the sheets look incredibly soft. The walls are painted a medium grey and the large glass mounted in the wall is confusing. At the same time, Erik has been gone from civilization for a long time. Technology is so beyond him at this point other than the necessities to blend in. He already misses the Earth underneath his nails, the constant building of his strength as he sparred with his pack.

 

He remember the look Auntie gave him when he left, eyes boring sadness and almost a plead not to go. The pack behind him, the males, appeared proud of him for taking this mission on himself. They huffed behind her and the Alpha stomps a foot softly on the ground. Erik rolls his eyes. 

 

_"Yeah, thanks for the encouragement," the sarcasm has the Alpha growling lowly, but it is all play. Erik reaches out and runs his fingers through Auntie's hair. She sighs._

 

_"I know, but I have to do it. For both of us." She does not react to that and he pulls away before the guilt of leaving her seeps in fully. He looks hard the men behind him, strong and accepting. These are his brothers, this is his tribe. When the world didn't give a shit about if he survived, the wolves raised him, fed him, built him into the man that he is: strong with a mission, the wolf spirit burrowed so permanently his soul._

 

_"If I don't come back, tear the fucking place apart, you hear me?" There is a conjoined howl in the night and Erik grins wickedly. There is nothing more to say. Erik removes the necklace from his neck and offers it to Auntie, but she shakes her head. No._

 

_"You don't want it?" He reaches out again, but she noses his back to him._

 

_"Okay," he puts the necklace back on, "I will do my best to come back. I promise." That seems to be enough and Erik backs up slowly. He dips his head, a final bow, before he turns._

 

 

Legs crossed on the floor, this is how he connects with his memories again, his most inner self. Erik does not risk getting on the bed, but he has been on much harder surfaces. The door clicks open and he snaps out of it. Night has fallen and it goes unnoticed. He cannot keep losing track of things just because he misses home or he is thrown off of his game. The King walks in and flicks on the light, curiously eyeing Erik's position on the floor. 

 

"Why are you there?" Erik does not answer. Do not speak unless allowed to. 

 

"You can answer," The King reminds, walking towards him. 

 

"I didn't know if I was allowed anywhere else, so I chose to stay on the floor." Erik answers, absorbing the facial expressions he receives in return. 

 

"You can get on the bed," so Erik does and the King follows suit, causing him to tense up immediately. The human eater notices it immediately and smiles. 

 

"I am not going to start the process today. I just want to learn about you first." Erik nods, looking down at his hands for added dramatics. 

 

"What is your name?"

 

"Erik."

 

"I would tell you my name, but I am not sure that you would not say it-" 

 

"I promise I won't ever say it!" Erik rushes, cursing himself mentally for speaking out of turn. The vampire looks beyond amused with the outburst. This is nothing like how he expected this meeting to go at all. He expected lots of growling, Erik finding the nearing sharp object and attempting to jab it in the vampire's cranium while the vampire snaps his mouth towards his neck, fleeting. 

 

"T'Challa. Do not ever say it unless I tell you to or there will be consequences, do you understand?" He nods. T'Challa seems happy with that, and Erik takes in the appearance of him. He looks like T'Chaka in a way, perhaps a son. That is the way the throne goes, given to the eldest (usually a son), and for now, he must work off of that theory. T'Challa brings his hand up once more, brushing at the wound on his cheek softly. It is already beginning to heal, so there is no actual reason for the man to be touching it. 

 

"You look tired," T'Challa says firmly as he stands, "the shower is there with clothes to sleep in. We can continue tomorrow." He walks to the door and Erik scrunches his eyebrows. He is just going to leave him?

 

"Wait, where are you going?" It seems like the wrong thing to say. The first really wrong thing he has said all day with the hardening of the King's face, the schooling of his features into something more reserved, diplomatic. Not angry, but merely upset. Erik has no fucking clue what this guy is capable of.

 

"Goodnight, Erik." The door closes and Erik lays on the bed, groaning. He is in, but nothing like he had planned. He quickly tries to reformulate his plan, but T'Challa is unpredictable. Much softer than he had ever expected from the blood suckers. Erik showers and changes into the attire set out for him. They feel soft against his skin, velvety even. This is what royalty fucking feels like. 

 

Erik trudges to the bed and considers not sleeping on it. He has not slept on a bed in forever, but he sheets are smooth against his fingers. He climbs in the cool covers, but sleep does not come to him easy. Not with the enemy right outside and with no way to get out to murder him. 

 

In prospective, he cannot decide if it is worse to sleep in the enemy's bed with the enemy absent or with him present. Damn it all, it won't be today or tomorrow, or maybe not even in a month, but he will kill this royal family of mass murderers even if it takes his last breath from his body. 

 


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one told me that throughout the entirety of the time that I have been writing, I've been double spacing between my paragraphs (this is meant to something funny)???

Light reached through the window, awakening Erik with its first presentation. Erik's body sprawled as he stretched, legs pushing the farthest that it can go before retreating back into its natural position. As bad as it is, that was the most comfortable sleep that he has had in a long time. Sure, there were some soft spots in the grass and even a hand-made hammock that he created a couple of years back - but an actual bed? There could be no comparison. 

It takes a full second to comprehend the situation again. This could be nothing but simple improvisation now, but there was as brief outline already created.

He'll kill T'Challa the moment he tries to feed him. That'll be soon because their cravings are like clockwork. He'll be ready by then hopefully. (If it was today, then Erik would have no choice but to become a victim to the sharp of his teeth and feel as the blood leaves his body. He's yet to steal a workable weapon). The door opens and Erik jumps, positioning naturally into a defensive position, teeth gritting. T'Challa walks in, not one bit intimidated by the stance of the other man, hands kept behind his back. 

"You are awake, that is good. I have breakfast for you if you would like," T'Challa gestures to the door and Erik relaxes, nodding firmly. The King's hand brushes along the low of his back as he passes him out of the door. Erik can't help but tense, his whole body tightening like he is prepared for a fight. And Erik is, but not now. He forces himself to relax because it is obvious that T'Challa has claimed him in some way already with the small encounter of intimacy. 

T'Challa pushes a door and the table is long, much too long for just two people to be eating. The room, decorated in expensive (probably priceless) decorations, and exhibitions catches his eye. Erik is snapped out of his viewing of the room when the only other person in the room presses onto him, politely pushing past him and expecting Erik to follow, which he does. 

T'Challa pulls a chair out for him at the opposite end of the table, farthest from the door, and Erik nods as thanks as he sits. T'Challa moves to his side and a plate is dropped in front of him. God, it smells so good, nothing like-

"Are you going to stare at it or eat?" The fork digs nicely into the meat and Erik doesn't miss that he is the only one eating. 

"Aren't you hungry?" Erik tries to joke, but instantly regrets it when T'Challa's eyes flash brighter. The vampire gains control, more control than Erik has seen of any of them, and answers seriously. 

"Not at this moment. Do ask later." Is that a fucking joke? Erik can't fucking tell with the blank expression on his face. Now that he thinks about it, does this guy even smile? He hasn't seen anything other than mild disappointment; T'Challa cannot be that diplomatic, with the poker face and all. 

"Enough talk," T'Challa finalizes the conversation, "eat. We have a long day ahead of us." Us? Question rack Erik's brain, but he doesn't get an answer for any of them. Instead of speaking, he stuffs his mouth with more food (which is actually quite delicious, for an entire palace that feeds off of humans). 

* * *

 

After getting dressed in an outfit chosen completely by the King, Erik follows him around the palace. A tour of the sorts and Erik uses it to assess all of the exits and map out what exactly he is dealing with. 

In conclusion, it's a big fucking mess. 

The lab is bright, low whirring sounds of working machines ringing his ears, as he steps in. There is one girl, small, and can be easily be mistaken for anything less than what she was. She turns around and all of that goes out of the window. 

"Brother!" The siblings perform a handshake, ending in their salute. She darts her eyes to him once, polite and curious. Erik would hate to think that she would look at him in this way when he drives a blade into her later on. 

"And who is this?" She scans him, analyzing him rather than hungering for him, and he appreciates that much more.

"His name is-" 

"He can speak on his own." She looks to him, expecting, and Erik looks to T'Challa for some form of permission. Erik receives it, with a subtle nod. 

"My name is Erik." 

"You always go for the Americans, don't you?" She punches him lightly and Erik watches as T'Challa breaks out into a full grin. How in the-

"That is not the only reason why I chose him, Shuri." He looks around as the two of them continue to talk, barely noticing his presence. Just like a blood slave, Erik thinks bitterly. He's not a fucking blood slave and he won't be treated like one either. 

"Is that vibranium nanites composing that shield?" That gains their attention, whipping their heads towards him.

"Yes, how did you know that?" Shuri ushers him to walk over there with her as she presents the shield. Erik runs his fingers of the matte surface, a hue of a bold color shining underneath.

"I studied some engineering and they were talking about vibranium when I came in." Shuri dives into a conversation about the various creations she has, and Erik is happy to speak about vibranium.  T'Challa does not seem to react behind him and Erik does not know if that is good or bad. In fact, Erik does not give a shit. Not when he has a naive vampire giving him everything that he needs to know. 

At the end of this, he could take the vibranium (there has to be more weapons somewhere) and he could give it out. There are other vampires in the world, in the shadows like the truths of Wakanda, and he could kill them all. He could fucking do it and not just rid of his home's bloodsuckers, but the entire world's. 

For a moment, he could imagine it. 

* * *

 

The walk back to T'Challa's room is tension filled. Or maybe it is just Erik feeling like he did something wrong. If it was not for this plan to get close to all of them before he slaughters all of them while he laughs bitterly, he wouldn't even be worried about whether or not he was liked. Shuri, he did not have to worry about. All he had to do was say something worthwhile and he was putty in his hands. T'Challa did not seems to be the easy whatsoever. 

The room is not the same as the two of them had left it. The bed is made and the room smells of a different scent than yesterday. The door closes. 

"I'm going to ask you a question," and then T'Challa was in his face and him against the wall, "and I want you to answer truthfully, understood?" There's a hand closes loosely around his throat, careful, but it tightens when he doesn't answer. Erik nods. "Who are you?" Erik was right. 

"My name is Erik Stevens-"

_"Erik Stevens, sir!" His body was not as built as it was now, but it was strong. He was a survivor, a man who ran with wolves, fought them. He stands at attention as his superior yells in his face. This supposed boot camp was meant to be hard, pushing men's bodies minds to their utmost limits. These Americans had no idea who he was, what happened to him, or even what he was capable of. No person did._

_"Why are you here?"_

_"To kill." No use in lying, Erik figures._

_"What was that?" The white man screams. Erik finds this more to be a challenge to who he is, trying to break him down to his core. They won't find a damn thing to break._

_"To kill, sir!"_

_"Well damn it, boy, you got a long way to go!" Yeah, he knows._

"look me up if you want to," Erik spits, "it's all there." The hand is removed from his neck, and though no real pressure was put against it, Erik feels like he can breathe again. T'Challa stares at him, glaring. 

"It is much harder to trust you than I figured it would be," T'Challa admits and Erik just wants to laugh in his face. 

"It's not about trust. You get to suck my neck until you're done." A smart mouth is not going to get him anywhere, but why the fuck not? 

"You are lying to me about something, Erik Stevens, and I will find out what it is." Something in his face says that it's not just words. Erik gulps, T'Challa's eyes following the movement as his hold their brighter color. He is hungry. 

"You're hungry." That seems to divert the attention of his neck momentarily as the King clears his throat, obviously disturbed.

"I am," T'Challa confirms, voice raspy as if he is without water. Erik looks around for anything to use to drive into his brain. No, this cannot be happening. Not so early. He needs to leave, even if it means not completing the mission - no, he promised Auntie. Whatever it takes, alive or not. A battle racks his brain, but the decision is made. The decision was made the moment he stepped into the Palace.

Erik tilts his head, holding a steady gaze to the King as he presents himself. T'Challa hisses lowly. Despite all of it, there is a seemingly calm aura. Numb. Erik has heard of this before.

 _The vampire effect_ : it is meant to make the prey struggle less. They emit the aura naturally and Erik has never felt it until now. Now he understands why his father couldn't run; it acts like a paralyzer. It feels like a killer drug, both shutting him down and waking him up at the exact same time. This is a low dose, but Erik is stilled and under the will not of his own. He has to do this. 

"I can wait another day-" T'Challa starts, shaking his head violently as he backs away. The numb sensation leaves and part of him is happy for it. The other part knows that there is no escaping this, whether it be today or tomorrow. Tomorrow it will be worse, much worse. The hunger can be so much that T'Challa will lose the rational, more human part of himself and settle for an animistic instinct. Neither of them will be able to fight it, the more the need to feed grows. Credit is due to the amount of control the vampire has, but he would rather not push it.

"Just do it now. Do you trust me?" Erik asks, pushing himself off of the wall. T'Challa could leave any moment he wanted to, but Erik's scent keeps him locked in. The blade goes two ways.

"No! I don't." 

"Well you have to for a moment. If you do it tomorrow, you'll just attack me and then you'll never get shit from me." Erik steps up to him. He knows T'Challa is thinking, trying to, but there is no way he'll resist the scent when he is this close. Another decision is made. 

One arm goes around the low of the back, the other back at his neck, fingers sharply pushing his head to the side. Erik is flush against T'Challa and the aura, the drug, intoxicates his senses again. It's hazy when T'Challa noses his jawline, teeth scraping as he travels down. It is a bittersweet mixture of feeling nothing and feeling nothing, or maybe he is so overwhelmed his brain can't decide to feel or not to feel. 

A gasp rips from his throat when T'Challa kisses at his pulse. The intimacy of this, bodies compressed against each other with a mouth at his neck, is too much. Far too much. 

"This is going to hurt so I need you to stay still," T'Challa directs him, but the words sound distant. His eyes are closed, mind too focused at the thumb brushing his bottom lip, and he forces them open. Red eyes meet his, full blown, and expecting. 

"Yeah." It sounds so fucking stupid, but Erik can't think. His eyes don't want to stay open and he is so relaxed all over, he might as well be a puddle on the floor. What is this shit? 

T'Challa readjusts his hands to hold his whole body. There was no training for this; there is nothing that the Navy Seals or the wolves could have done to prepare him for this moment. He is embarrassingly and unwillingly erect, body and mind so separate he can't fight his way out of this. He can do nothing but watch the impressive control of the King as he inhales on his neck. 

"It's always worse the first time," T'Challa informs, "remember to stay still. I promise it gets better." 

Erik wants to say something, but teeth are sinking in, then he feels like he is being stabbed all over. White hot pain courses his body and he can barely do anything, barely say anything. Is there air to breathe? Erik's fingers scratch helplessly at the vampire's back, but it does nothing. He can feel teeth - knives - everywhere, slicing through his skin to drain him, and he tries to relax. Pain is not a stranger, but this? This is some new level shit. 

A high pitched sound falls from his mouth. A moan? No way. 

Time blurs and Erik is shifting through time, present to past. He remembers before September 16. 

 

_"Will we really get to see the King?" His mother's hand in his hand is tighter than usual as they push through the crowd. Every year, there is a day meant for the royalty to interact with Wakanda. All of the tribes come together, even the Jabari, and they all celebrate Wakanda. The successes, the future of, for Wakanda is forever. N'Jadaka is in his best robes, sneakily grabbing the fruit from the market stand as they pass. Business shuts down for the day and everyone is invited inside of the walls._

_N'Jobu is on the other side of him, clicking his teeth at his small crime, but a smile remains on his face nonetheless._

_The three of them continue to slip through people until they made it inside. It is huge. N'Jadaka just wants to run everywhere, but now there is people everywhere. Baba told him not to run in public places like this. He bits his lip as his mother lets go of his hand._

_Music plays. His mother takes Baba's hand as they move towards the middle of the floor, not afraid to show their display of affection, their performance for all to say. N'Jadaka sneaks through the crowd, keeping an eye on the seated King as he moves to the stairs. He runs then, adrenaline zooming through his blood._

_"What are you doing up here?"  N'Jadaka turns and sees another boy. He had to be his age._

_"What are you doing up here?" He counters, watching as the boy smiles._

_"I live here," and he feels stupid. He's talking to someone important._

_"I'm sorry. It's crowded down there." The boy walks up beside of them and they lean over the railing to see the multitude of people in the room._

_"You are right." N'Jadaka is still looking down when the boy leans in dangerously close, causing N'Jadaka to back up immediately. The boy's eyes are not brown anymore, they are red. Fear arises when nothing happens and he is as still as a statue._

 

When Erik opens his eyes again, he can see brown eyes, not red. T'Challa must've been fighting the hunger for a while. Erik is drawn to his mouth. His blood drips from the corners of T'Challa's lips and he should feel fear. He should be mad as hell, ready to kill him because he has the chance. He feels none of those things, shame building from the pit of his stomach. T'Challa takes a finger, catching the excess blood from his neck and the small amount dripping down his mouth, sucking on it like a lifeline. 

Erik's breaths are heavy, the paralyzing feeling dissipated from his body. Now he feels everything completely, comprehendably, but he refuses to acknowledge what is screwing up his brain. He must've lost too much blood or something is off in his head, but the King looks good like this. T'Challa looks at him, eye contact too inviting, but Erik can't seem to look away. Completely entranced in the moment. 

"Thank you," T'Challa says, ducking his head to lick at his wound one more time. As if it were a command, Erik's head turns to accommodate more room. the fuck is he doing? It's like he wants to do it, has to do it. Erik is fully aware that he does not actually have to do it, he can move his body at will again, but something is wrong. At the end of it, he can't admit to himself that he was not ready for any of this. It is too late now, he is in.

This was not a part of this plan. Not at all. 

Shit.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Questions? What are your thoughts about this? Love you all!

**Author's Note:**

> If you did not understand this, Erik was the boy and he was raised by the wolves, then he sets out a plan to kill of the vampires (which is apparently the Udaku family line). Erik and T'Challa are not related in this story and no, I have no idea how long this mini fic will last.


End file.
